You could see Curly approaching the car, his carefree stride and jacket slung over his shoulder, but something in his expression put you on alert.

As you got closer, the scene unfolded: Jimmy, leaning back in the driver's seat with his arms crossed, spoke in a low voice, clearly irritated, while Curly, leaning through the passenger window, wore that sarcastic smile he always had when he knew he was winning the argument even if he wasn’t right.

"At it again, huh?" said Jimmy, his tone sharp but attempting to stay calm. "It’s not my fault you always have to be in control, darling," replied Curly, exaggerating the last word as he drummed his fingers on the door.

You sighed, dropping the bag of fast food onto the car hood with a thud. Both of them turned toward you, as if suddenly realizing you were there.

"And now what?" you asked, crossing your arms as you looked at them, feeling like this was just another episode of the never-ending soap opera that was their dynamic.

Jimmy gestured at Curly with his hand, as if that explained everything. "He keeps saying he doesn’t know why I’m not the one driving when it’s obvious I’m the better driver."

"Right, because you’re the god of driving, huh?" Curly retorted, rolling his eyes. "What happened the last time I let you drive? Oh yeah, we missed the exit and ended up in a ghost town."